Buried Treasure
by emospritelet
Summary: Lacey knows that Mr Gold has a past, and that the woman he loved is still on his mind. She decides to distract him by hiding his ring in an intimate place.
1. Chapter 1

**This fic is dedicated to the wonderful person who keeps sending anonymous hate to Rumbellers here and on tumblr. You know who you are, sweetie. Go sit on a cactus and kill that bug you have up your butt.**

 **It is also, of course, dedicated to my lovely followers who continue to enjoy the trash and garbage I post. In particular Ripperblackstaff, who gave me prompts for this :)**

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Mr Gold was a mystery. If she'd been feeling more poetic, she would have followed that with 'wrapped in an enigma' or something equally trite, but Lacey wasn't in the mood for poetry. In his dealings with the townsfolk, the man came across as menacing, for sure. Dangerous. The violent type, the type she was usually drawn to. She was the first to admit to having terrible taste in men, but the types she usually ended up with were knuckle-dragging idiots, and she'd been on the receiving end of more than a few drunken punches in her time. Mr Gold wasn't like that. Despite the aura of ruthlessness, despite her conviction that he would beat the crap out of anyone that crossed him and not lose an ounce of sleep over it, he had never laid a hand on her that she didn't want there. He was gentle with her, almost to the point of irritating her at times, as though he was afraid he'd break her. She had snapped at him in the early days, and it had taken a while for him to understand that when she said 'harder', she fucking well meant it. At least they had gotten past _that_ awkward phase, and if she wanted rough sex on the dining room table on a Tuesday evening, she damn well got it.

He was also refined, well-mannered, and extremely clever, all of which was a total turn-on, of course. If she hadn't been determined to maintain her carefully-crafted image of the hard-drinking, empty-headed barfly, she would have enjoyed conversations with him, but she always tried to deflect their discussions from any serious topic, in case he found out something about her that she wasn't ready to reveal. He had caught her looking at his bookshelves one day, her lips parted in joy at some of the titles he had there, and he had quietly said that she was welcome to borrow anything she wanted. She had jerked upright, not having heard him approach (the man was as silent as a mouse when he wanted to be), and had joked about the books having no pictures, or something. He'd given her this knowing, almost sad stare when she said that, as though he knew full well that she loved reading and was trying to hide her intelligence, so she'd kissed him until his eyes lost that look, and ended up blowing him right there on the floor of his own study. Lacey knew how to distract him when he tried to get too close.

They had settled into a sort of pattern since they had started this - she wasn't sure what to call it exactly - 'relationship' seemed way too formal. 'Friends with benefits' wasn't accurate either, because they weren't friends. She didn't even know his first _name_ , for Christ's sake, but she was too stubborn to ask him, so she just called him Gold. If she was in the mood to be playful she'd even add the Mister. So no, they weren't friends. Fuckbuddies was maybe as far as it went. She was living at his house, but she had her own room, and if she chose not to sleep with him, he didn't disturb her, or ask her for anything. He'd bring her coffee in the morning when he made himself a cup, and she helped with the cleaning and cooking. The fact that she was a terrible cook meant that she stuck to sandwiches and cereal most of the time, but luckily he was good at using his hands for far more than bringing her off, so she ate well for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Occasionally they went out together, not that this hole of a town had much in the way of nightlife. They'd have dinner at Granny's or that Italian place she'd been thrown out of once for tossing a full glass of wine over her idiot of a date. No one threw her out anymore, of course. There was a security in being with Mr Gold, a sense that she had a free pass for pretty much anything in the town. Oh, people could look down their noses at her, and most did, but that wasn't anything new, and they never said anything to her face. Certainly not to him, either, not that any of them would give a shit that he was dating the sorry mess that was Lacey French. They probably thought he was paying her to bang him, anyway. She didn't much care.

They were due to go out that evening, and Lacey was waiting in Gold's bedroom while he took a shower. The sound of running water was soothing, pleasant, and she let the noise wash over her as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She was already dressed: sky-high heels and a tight black dress that just covered her arse, her hair twisted up on her head in a messy knot. Gold had offered to buy her some new things, but she had thus far resisted, not wanting to take too much from him and preferring to rely on the money she made herself. Besides, she looked good. She suspected he would rather she wore something a little more demure, but to his credit he had never tried to suggest that she change. Not that she had any intention of doing so, of course, but she almost couldn't bear the brief look of wistfulness, almost sorrow, in his eyes when he looked at her. As though she didn't measure up. As though she were a disappointment.

She frowned to herself, running a hand over the silk throw folded at the end of the bed and wondering why she was being so negative. Wondering why disappointing someone bothered her all of a sudden, when it seemed to have been her destiny with everyone else in her life. She knew he had a past; she had found clothes in a box at the back of the closet in her room a few weeks after she had moved in. They were her size, and beautifully made, but they were certainly not her style. A young woman's clothes, pretty blouses and tiny sweaters and little flared skirts, and she had felt a sudden and unexpected spark of jealousy at the thought of someone being here before her. Someone so different. Someone he couldn't quite forget, no matter how hard she tried to make him. She had been tempted to try the clothes on, to surprise him, but the thought of how he might react had stayed her hand, and she had folded up a little cashmere sweater and put it back in the box with the other things, closing the closet door.

She had decided there and then that she would not try to replace his lost love, whoever she was. Certainly not by playing some sort of erotic dress-up in the clothes of a ghost. She didn't think she could bear to see that look in his eyes, that one he got sometimes when she forgot herself and was too affectionate, or when she got too drunk and made a pointed observation about a book she wasn't supposed to have read. Whoever her predecessor had been, the loss of her had affected him deeply, and she could tell that he was trying to hide his true self just as much as she was. They each crouched behind walls, the gates locked shut against intruders. They each wore masks, allowing one another to peek beneath for only the briefest moment.

The instant she had suspected that she had a rival for his heart, she had set out to purge the other woman from his mind in all the ways she knew. He had been surprised by some of the things she had wanted to do, and some he had flat out refused, but he had enjoyed the rest, and she had felt a surge of triumph whenever she made him lose his mind in a brand new way. Whoever the woman had been, she was clearly a good girl, judging from the clues Lacey had to go on. A little vanilla princess, batting her eyes and smiling innocently. He had even whispered her name once, in the dark of the night, when they'd both drunk too much to do anything more than fumble, and she had lain naked by his side, an unexpected pain stabbing at her at the sound of another woman's name on his lips.

Lacey scowled, hating that thoughts of his past were making her feel inferior, and hating more that she was letting it. She could have talked to him about it, of course, but that might involve opening up and revealing more about herself than she wanted to. And so she resolved to deal with her inner conflict in the best way she knew. She'd make him forget all about his absent lover and concentrate everything on _her_ for the evening. It had always worked before.

Pursing her lips, she pushed herself up off the bed and glanced around, wondering how to approach this. She could simply undress and get into bed, but that seemed too obvious, too passive. She wanted him to work for it, to think of her and forget all about Little Miss Perfect, whoever she was. His suit was already laid out, his shirt hung beside it. She could put that on, she supposed. He liked it when she wore his shirts, especially in the morning. Again, too obvious, too mundane. The rest of his outfit sat on the dresser: his sleeve garters, sock garters, the gold cufflinks he wore and the old moonstone ring that sat on the third finger of his right hand. She had always been curious about that ring, had wondered at its history, and had never asked him about it. Perhaps it was time she paid it some attention.

Grinning to herself as she thought of something, she snatched up the ring and stuck it in her mouth, coating it in saliva, the brief tang of cold metal on her tongue. She cast a quick glance at the door that led to the bathroom, before lifting the skirt of her dress and fumbling inside her panties, the ring hooked on her finger. The sound of the water shutting off made her bite back a slightly nervous giggle as she slowly pushed the ring up inside herself. She could hear towels being rubbed against skin, and she quickly straightened her clothes and sat back down, bouncing slightly on the mattress and folding her hands demurely in her lap as the bathroom door opened. Gold came out with cane in hand and a towel around his waist, his skin moist and his hair wonderfully messy. She let her eyes run over him as he crossed to the mirror and began brushing his hair, the bristles forming neat rows along his scalp and pushing thin rivulets of water from his hair to run down over his shoulders.

She always liked looking at him, especially when he wasn't aware of it. Whenever he dressed, she would run her eyes over the skin of his back or chest while he was distracted by something, reminding herself how he felt beneath her fingertips, how he tasted on her tongue. She liked watching him when he was concentrating on something, the way his forefinger would run over his upper lip without him being aware of it, the way the silver strands in his hair caught the light. Sometimes she could become aroused simply from a look he would flash her, from the intensity he would exude.

He began to dress, and she bit her lip, squeezing her thighs together and very aware of the ring inside her, watching as he fastened his sock garters and drew his suit pants over the top, pulling up the zipper. The dark red shirt was next, sliding onto his arms with a whispery noise, and she let out a tiny, satisfied murmur as he tugged it closed, the warm light picking up the sheen of silk. He glanced at her over his shoulder as he fastened the buttons and pulled on his waistcoat.

"Are you ready?" he asked. "I thought we'd eat around eight. There's time for a drink, if you want one."

"I'm good, thanks." She waited for him to notice. He pushed the sleeve garters up his arms, the gold shining against red silk, and stopped abruptly, head turning from left to right.

"Did you see my ring?" he asked, and she was silent. He swore under his breath, bending his head to look beneath the dresser.

"I left it here," he muttered, and she grinned.

"Maybe the fairies took it," she said innocently, and there was a thump as he banged his head on the underside of the dresser.

He straightened up, turning to face her, and she smiled sweetly at him.

"Lacey," he said patiently. "Do you have my ring?"

"Maybe."

She could feel a smirk growing on her face, and she wriggled a little on the bed. The corner of his mouth lifted upwards in amusement.

"Well?" he said softly. "Are you going to return what's mine?"

He was standing with his cane out to the side, his hip a little cocked and his thumb tucked in his belt loop. She let her eyes drop to follow the direction of his fingers, remembering the last time she had been at eye level with his groin. Surprising him beneath the shop counter had been enormous fun for both of them.

"I think you should come and get it," she said, letting the timbre of her voice drop, letting it become throaty, sexy.

"Do you indeed?" His voice had lowered too, grown soft and slightly menacing. It made her belly clench. She raised her eyes to his, biting her lower lip, and his nostrils flared slightly, his eyebrow jerking upwards. He unhooked his thumb, beckoning to her with a long forefinger.

"On your feet, Miss French," he whispered, and she felt a flutter of excitement as she pushed herself up off the bed and stood very straight, hands clasped behind her back, adopting the pose she used when she wanted him to take charge. It had taken him a while to get used to that, but she hoped that he was in the mood to play tonight. She certainly was.

"One step forward," he said then, and she obeyed. He began circling her slowly, a prowling wolf, and she felt her heart thump with excitement as he passed behind her, as she lost sight of him. She could feel his presence, though, a heavy warmth in the air, a tingling of electricity. He ran a gentle finger across her clasped hands, and she sucked in a breath as a shiver ran through her.

"So," he said softly. "It's like that, is it?"

She didn't respond, and he crossed around to the front again, eyeing her. She chewed her lip again, giving a tiny nod, her eyes sparkling, and he smirked a little. She expected him to kiss her then, or touch her. Once, he had taken her by surprise and tickled her. She had shrieked with laughter as they rolled on the bed, her sides hurting, breathless with giggles and tears streaming from her eyes before she begged him to stop, and he had grinned down on her with a look on his face that was almost happy. She'd let him be gentle with her that night, kissing her all over almost reverently before he pulled her beneath the blankets for long, slow, mind-blowing sex. For a brief moment, looking up at him, at the sleepy fondness in his eyes, she had thought she might mean something to him, that he might think of her as something more than a drunken fling to take his mind off his lost love. But then he'd asked if she wanted tea, and she had snorted and said she'd rather have whisky, thanks very much, and he'd gotten that sad little look in his eyes again.

He reached out, fingers brushing over one smooth cheek, and she wanted to lean into his touch, to kiss his fingertips, to have a brief moment of tenderness. She wondered where that sudden need came from, but she ignored it, and he drew back, his eyes dark. His thumb stroked over her lower lip, and he gently pulled it down, sliding the thumb in. She licked the tip, pressing her tongue against him and sucking, and watched as he swallowed hard.

"Well," he said softly. "It doesn't appear to be in there."

She shook her head, lips curving into a mischievous smirk around his thumb, and he drew it out, moistening her lower lip with her saliva as he went.

"Wait," he whispered, and strode off to the bathroom, where she heard him running the water. Brow furrowing, she wondered what she was up to, and her eyes widened when he came back through with a small towel in his hand, water droplets running from the cane. He leant against the wall as he dried it off, a rhythmic stroking of the towel up and down the shining length of ebony, his eyes locked on hers, and she tried to imagine what he was thinking of. She had suggested the previous week exactly what he could do with that cane of his, but he hadn't seemed too interested. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a delicious _frisson_ of nervousness in her belly as he straightened up. He lifted a hand, turning one finger in a circle.

"Turn around," he said quietly. "Hands on the dresser."

She turned to the side and stepped forward, her breath quickening as she bent a little and put her hands flat on the smooth mahogany, her eyes flicking up to watch in the mirror as he slowly walked behind her. She saw him lean the cane against the back of the chair to her left, and then his hands were on her, running up her sides and sliding around the front to cup her breasts. She grinned at him as he squeezed her.

"I don't feel anything that shouldn't be there," he murmured. "But perhaps I should make sure…"

Fingertips danced across her back and up over her shoulders, and she shivered as he brushed the sensitive skin at the back of her neck. He grasped the zipper of her dress, pulling it down slowly and letting the sides of the dress spring apart to reveal her pale skin. Gently, he pushed it down over her shoulders, pulling her arms out and letting the dress fall to her waist. Lacey felt her abdomen clench as he let out a soft sigh, one finger tracing down the hollow of her spine. She watched as he lowered his mouth to her back, gasping at the feel of the damp strands of his hair tickling her skin, the brush of his lips. He stepped closer, so that he was pressed up against her, and she wriggled a little, pushing her rear against him and feeling that he was already hard. He unhooked her bra, pushing the straps from her shoulders and down her arms, and she let the bra hit the floor as her small, firm breasts fell into his hands.

"We appear to be running out of hiding places," he whispered, his voice a low rumble in her ear, and she moaned as he squeezed her nipples. "Any suggestions, Miss French?"

She shook her head, and felt him smile against her skin, his lips trailing across her shoulder and up her neck. His fingers left her breasts, reaching up to pull the pins from her hair and let her dark curls tumble around her shoulders. Her lips parted as his touch sent shivers through her, and he hooked his thumbs under the folds of her dress, pushing it over her hips and down her legs, leaving her in nothing but a black lace thong. One finger slipped beneath the thin strip of lace that encircled her waist, tugging gently so that the fabric rubbed between her legs, causing a delicious sensation. His hand moved, sliding between her legs and making her bite her tongue as he grazed his fingertips over the lace.

"It doesn't appear to be hidden in these, either," he said. "But I think we ought to take them off, just to be sure."

She grinned as he pulled at her underwear, sliding it over her hips and down her legs to leave her completely bare except for her heels. His hand stroked her again, reaching between her legs and curling around so that his fingers could touch her. She let out a little purr as he stroked her, fingers flickering over her tender flesh. His hands were incredible: long, slender fingers with hard calluses that created a delicious sensation. He had known how to touch her from the very start, had known how to make her moan and pant and scream. She could feel him spreading the wetness he found, one fingertip sliding along her folds, and she wriggled a little, wanting more of him. His hand dropped away, and she drew in a sharp breath at the cold, hard length of his cane sliding up her inner thigh to sit just below where she wanted him.

"Perhaps I should look here," he whispered, and the end of the cane traced through her flesh, making her moan. "What say you, Miss French?"

She tried to speak, but the cool wood of the cane was sliding back and forth, back and forth, grazing her clit and making her pant with desire. The cane turned, the cold metal of the handle pressing against her sex, and she bit back a moan as he pulled it tighter against her.

"What are you hiding inside, sweetheart?" he whispered. "What treasures are buried in there?"

 _Sweetheart_. He'd never called her that before, and she kind of liked it. As though she were special. As though she meant something. The cane handle tugged and pulled, and she felt her juices spread across the metal, warming it with her arousal. She moaned, rubbing herself against it, trying to increase the friction. He changed the angle, letting the handle slip lower, the end of it sliding along her wet flesh to catch in her entrance. He pressed, and she relaxed a little, letting the cool metal slide into her. She felt, rather than heard, a clink as it knocked against the ring that was buried within her, and she bit her lip, wondering if he'd notice.

"I think perhaps this requires a closer inspection," he whispered, and she wriggled a little, her excitement growing. She could hear his breath hardening, his desire for her growing, and she moved her rear in a slow circle against his crotch, watching in the mirror as his jaw tightened. Slowly, he drew out the cane handle, moving the cane from between her legs. He flipped it in one hand so that the handle pointed to the floor, his hand gripping the shaft just above it, and reached around her hip and beneath her arm so that the cane was in front of her, its shining dark length hovering near her mouth. She ran her tongue over the end, meeting his eyes in the mirror, and grinned to herself as his lips parted. Never dropping her gaze, she let her tongue flicker out, curling around the black shaft and leaving a trail of moisture. His breath seemed to catch in his throat, his eyes gleaming at her, and she smiled at him, painted lips curving upwards.

"More?" he asked, his voice throaty, and she nodded, so he pushed the cane handle between her legs, using the moulded end of it to rub against her clit in tiny circles. Lacey moaned, moving her hips to increase the pressure, the shaft of the cane a cool pressure on her cheek, her breath causing moisture to bloom on the dark wood. He gently moved it, pushing the handle deeper into her flesh, and she angled her body until it slipped inside her, sinking down onto it with a gasp. The ebony shaft pressed up against her, the feel of his fingers around it, and he began to rub as she moved, the cane and his fingertips becoming slippery with her fluids. The hardness of the cane was a delicious pressure against her, the electric sensations from his fingers flickering over her, and she moaned as he pressed up against her back, the buttons of his waistcoat cool on her skin.

She could feel the sensations rising within her, her cheeks starting to flush, her breath coming hard. She licked her lips, moaning as he began kissing her neck, the feel of his lips and his tongue sending shivers through her body.

"You feel good, sweetheart," he whispered, his mouth by her ear. "All soft and silky for me, all hot and wet. I want to slip my tongue inside you, push it right up inside and taste you. I want to make you come and drink it down."

He could turn her on just by speaking, that delicious accent of his and the words he used. She loved it when he spoke filthy words to her, when he told her what he wanted to do to her. His tongue was good for other things, too. She moaned, rubbing her head against him, letting her hips rock, feeling her climax building. His teeth nipped at her earlobe as his fingers slipped and rubbed against her.

"I know how good you taste," he breathed. "I love the taste of you on my tongue. I love your cum in my mouth, little Lacey. All salty and sweet and delicious. All mine."

"Yes!" she whispered, and a part of her meant it. A part of her wanted to be his, to be the one he thought of. To be the one he loved.

She tried to catch his eye in the mirror, but he wasn't looking at her, his attention focused on the point between her neck and shoulder. She sighed as he swept his tongue across her skin, and the sound she made became a groan as he bit down, the pain a delightful sensation. He quickened his movements, pushing the cane handle in and out of her, teasing her, _fucking_ her. His other hand slid up over her belly to squeeze her breast, his thumb and forefinger plucking at her nipple and sending jolts of sensation through her.

"Oh God!" she moaned, and his tongue swept up her throat, his teeth tugging at her ear. Her moans increased in pitch, her body shaking as she neared her peak, and she let out a hoarse cry as she came, her body jerking in his arms as she rubbed against the cane, against his fingers. Her belly clenched and pulled, stars in her vision, and gradually she slowed her movements, panting, her arms shaking a little where they held her up on the dresser. Gold kissed her neck with a low growl that vibrated through her.

"Well, well," he whispered. "Was that acceptable, Miss French? Will you return what's mine?"

She waited a moment before answering, trying to catch her breath.

"You'll have to take it from me," she said softly, and felt him smile against her.

"Very well."

Gently, he pulled the cane handle from her, and she looked down to see glistening strings of white stretch and snap as it left her body. His other hand reached for the cane, lifting it up past her face. She watched in the mirror as he turned the cane and slid the handle in between his lips, whitish blobs of her cum shining atop the gold. He let out a low, rumbling noise of satisfaction as he tasted it, and she felt her desire for him growing, her need to feel his touch again, to kiss him, to have him inside her. He kept his eyes on her as he sucked the handle clean, drawing it from his mouth with a tiny, dull pop, and for a moment the look in his eyes almost scared her, his pupils wide and dark, his gaze hungry. He stepped back from her, the air cool on her skin where she lost the heat of his body, and he grounded the cane between his feet in his usual stance, flicking back his hair.

"On the bed," he said quietly. "On your knees."

Skin tingling with excitement, she crawled onto the bed, looking over her shoulder at him as he undressed. She liked it when he fucked her in his suit, when she was naked and he was fully-dressed, but he didn't enjoy the visits to the dry cleaner afterwards. She had taken his suit in once herself, smirking as the attendant spread it out on the counter and raised an eyebrow at the white patches they had both left there.

Gold unfastened his cufflinks and put them back on the dresser, peeling off his shirt and making his way to the bed. She gazed up at the ornate headboard, her eyes following the loops and whorls of carved wood as she heard him unfasten his pants, the clink of his belt as he opened it and the sound of him stepping out of them. She heard a drawer open and close, then, and chewed her lower lip in anticipation as the cane was pushed onto the bed by her side. A soft thump made her look around, and she grinned as she saw a small bottle of lube roll against the length of the cane. The mattress bowed under his knee as he climbed on behind her, and she sucked in a breath as he touched her, his hand starting at the nape of her neck and sweeping down her spine in one smooth movement. She shivered, looking over her shoulder at him, and he slid a hand between her legs, his fingers stroking delicately. She moaned as he slipped a finger inside her, and he chuckled. She met his eyes, and he was grinning at her.

"Well, there was really only one other place it could be," he said, winking, and drew out his finger, the ring wedged onto it. Lacey returned the grin.

"Okay, you got me," she grumbled. "Finders keepers. Losers get fucked until they can't remember their own name, right?"

She wiggled her eyebrows, but his smile faltered, and she wondered what she'd said wrong. Again. He dropped his eyes, a deep sadness in them that made her want to sit up, take him in her arms and ask him what it was that had upset him so much. She wouldn't, though. Not her thing.

"Gold," she whispered, and he looked up with a start, as though he'd suddenly remembered she was there. She smiled at him, trying to bring him back to her.

"Touch me," she said softly. "Please."

He fumbled with the ring, sliding it onto his third finger, and then his hands were on her again, stroking over her hips. He reached down between her legs, his fingers stroking and sliding against her clit, and she moaned, already slick from her orgasm. He groaned with her as his fingers entered, a low, contented sound.

"Yeah!" she breathed. "Yes, just like that!"

She didn't need to tell him. He already knew how to drive her wild, but he also liked encouragement, and she had certainly never had to fake her enthusiasm. She arched her back, moaning again as the fingers slipped out of her and rubbed along her folds, grazing her clit.

"Again!" she whispered, and he let out a soft laugh.

"Eager, aren't we?" he said, and dipped his fingers into her again. She rode his hand in long, slow movements, enjoying the feel of his fingers inside her. It wasn't enough, though.

"Please!" she breathed. "I want you!"

He shuffled closer, until she could feel him, hard and hot against her. His fingers pulled away, and she felt the smooth head of his cock in their place, rubbing against her, sliding over her and making her gasp. She rocked her hips against him, trying to get him inside her, and moaned in frustration as he teased the soft flesh at her entrance before sliding on to nudge her clit.

"Dammit, Gold, get on with it!" she snapped, and he chuckled again.

"Patience, sweetness," he said, and she growled at him.

He continued to thrust against her, his breathing growing heavier, his cock hard and hot as it slid through her wet folds, and she moved against him, increasing the friction, perspiration coating the skin of her cheeks and forehead in tiny beads. Sensations were building once more, pushing her up towards orgasm, and she swore loudly as he slid home, sinking into her with a long groan of satisfaction. She pushed back against him, letting him fill her, her moans growing louder as he began to thrust in and out. Dimly, she was aware of him picking up the cane, of a squirting sound, and she jerked in surprise as she felt cold, slippery lubricant between her buttocks, followed by the cool hardness of the cane handle. She giggled.

"Dammit, Gold," she murmured. "We should stay in the house more often."

She moaned as he slowly pushed the handle into her, the sensation delightful, increasing the pleasure she felt from his cock, from his flickering fingertips, slick with lube and her own juices. The stimulation was almost too much, and she let her cries increase in volume, scattered with profanity as she neared her peak. His fingers were rubbing in a steady rhythm over her clit, his thick cock pumping in and out of her, the cane handle causing an incredible sensation that made her heart pound and her breathing hoarse and ragged, and she lost herself in it, allowed herself to feel every bit of him, experienced every ounce of pleasure he could give her. Bright lights burst in her head as she came with a scream, her body spasming, jerking forwards onto the bed, her face pressed into the covers as she let out a series of short, rhythmic cries. Shadows claimed her, filling her head, and she lay there twitching, feeling his weight on top of her, his breathing every bit as ragged as hers.

"Fuck!" she mumbled, and felt him smile against her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, and she groaned.

"Think so. Shit, my head! If you see any brains lying around, just stuff 'em back in, would you?"

He chuckled then, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, and carefully removed the cane from her and threw it to the floor, before pulling out and turning her over. She blinked up at him sleepily, enjoying the smug grin on his face. She liked to make him feel good about himself.

"That was amazing," she slurred, her body still tingling, and his grin widened.

"We're not done yet."

"Dammit!" She pulled a face, then smiled to let him know she didn't mean it, and he bent his head to kiss her, pulling her legs apart and sliding into her again.

She knew he liked doing it this way, when he could see her face and touch her, when he could kiss her. It had always felt a little weird to her, given their lack of relationship status, but this time she welcomed it, and even reached up to cup his cheek as he pushed all the way inside.

"You feel good," she said softly, and he smiled at her a little tremulously.

"Oh, sweetheart!" he whispered, stroking her hair back from her face. He kissed her, his mouth hot and sweet, his tongue sliding into her mouth as he moved, as he thrust, and she lifted her knees, wrapping her legs around him and holding him close. He pulled his mouth free, pressing his forehead to hers, his breath warm on her face, their bodies damp with sweat, and she slid her arms around him, feeling the bliss rising in her once more. He kissed her ear, licking along her jaw to slip his tongue in her mouth, and she moaned in pleasure as his body rubbed against her already sensitive flesh, knowing she was almost there, she was ready to fall. He was close too, quickening his pace, his cock rigid and slick with her cum, and there was heat and friction where they joined, the sensations building, until he let out a rough cry, throwing his head back as he pulsed deep inside her. The feel of it pulled her with him, and she clung to his shoulders, her fingernails digging crescents into his skin as she pumped against him, as pleasure flooded through her. He pressed messy kisses to her cheeks, her throat, his hair damp and smelling of musk and sex and _him_ , and she tried to catch her breath, her heart pounding as she held him tight.

He pushed his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder, heaving a deep sigh, and they lay for a moment in sticky, comfortable silence as their breathing steadied. Eventually he pushed himself up on his arms, pulling out of her, and rolled onto his side, dragging the silk throw over them. She moved with him, rolling to face him, and he tucked a damp curl of hair behind her ear, smiling sleepily.

"Are you still hungry?" he asked softly, and she shook her head.

"I'm okay."

"I could get you a drink, if you wanted," he added, and she nuzzled his nose with hers in a display of affection that surprised her.

"Later. Let's rest for a moment."

"As you wish."

He slipped an arm around her waist, tugging her to him, and she laid her head against his chest, hearing the thump of his heart. She rubbed her head against him, and he pushed his nose into her hair, breathing deep as his fingers stroked her back. He seemed to be drifting into sleep, and while she actually was a little hungry, she didn't want to move from the cosy little cocoon they had made. She was warm, and safe, and for a moment she could lie with him and imagine how things might be, if they were to become more than this. If they could each let down their guard. She smiled, sated and comfortable, and Gold sighed deeply, his scent surrounding her, his breath warm on her scalp.

"I love you, Belle," he murmured, and she froze in horror.

His breathing steadied, became even, and she lay there with her heart thumping, her eyes brimming with tears that she couldn't explain. Pulling away from him, she turned on her side, her back to him, and his arm instinctively went around her, tugging her back against him. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears coursing over her cheeks as she bit back a sob. She had accepted that he had loved and lost, and that he saw her at best as a charity case, and at worst a convenient fuck, but when had her feelings towards _him_ changed? When had he stopped being a roof over her head and a hot meal and an easy lay? When had she started to _care_? Inwardly, she cursed the woman he loved, knowing she could never get between them. He would never speak her name that way, would never tell her that he loved her. Who could ever love her?

* * *

 **A/N: I had no intention of that being angsty rather than smutty, these things just seem to happen to me :(**


	2. Exit Strategy

**A/N: So, this was gonna be a one-shot, but people wanted me to fix it…**

 **Yeah, this chapter fixes sweet fuck-all, I'm afraid!**

* * *

When Gold awoke, the bed beside him was empty, the sheets cold. He stretched, rubbing his right eye with the heel of his hand, and sat up, the silk throw falling around his waist. She was gone, then. He sighed to himself, fingers spreading in a fan across the bedclothes. Sometimes she stayed. Belle had always stayed, ever since the first night, even though he had given her a room of her own and shown her into it. She had knocked on his door as he was lying with his hands behind his head, his mind brimming with thoughts of her, and had sidled into the room in a set of his pyjamas, which was all he had for her to wear. He had watched, wide-eyed and heart thumping, as she climbed into bed with him, and he had held her close as she slept, barely able to believe that she was alive, and there, and in his arms. From that day until the day she left, Belle had never slept apart from him. But Lacey was not Belle.

He craned his head, looking at the clock on the nightstand. Nearing eleven-thirty. They hadn't eaten dinner, and he was a little hungry, not to mention that he needed the bathroom. Throwing back the covers, he got out of bed and groped on the floor for the cane. He limped naked to the bathroom to relieve himself, washing his hands and the cane in the sink and drying them off before grabbing the silk robe from the back of the door and slipping it on. The house was silent, the only sound the quiet ticking of clocks and the creak of old wooden floorboards as he walked. Her bedroom door was open, the bed empty and a shaft of moonlight falling across it from the open curtains.

He made his way downstairs, thinking she had gone to get herself a snack or a glass of something, but there was no sign of her in the kitchen. For a moment he wondered if perhaps she had gone out without him, back to that dreadful bar where they had first met, and he was about to go back upstairs to get dressed when he happened to look in the lounge. She was on the couch, legs curled under her, wearing his discarded shirt. A book lay open on her lap, her head lolling against the cushions of the couch and her eyes closed, and he smiled to himself. Her hair fell down over her shoulders in a tousled mess, her skin as pale as milk. She looked so young, so incredibly fragile, and he wanted so much to wrap his arms around her and keep her safe. His jaw tightened, and he shifted his feet, his body stiffening. He had attempted to do that, to be gentle, to be himself with her, to be the man that no one in this town but Belle had ever seen. It had backfired spectacularly, and he had resorted to being distant, to being the dealmaker. To keeping her at arm's length, no matter how much it hurt him. At least that way she found him interesting enough to stay with. At least that kept her safe.

He debated whether to leave her there, but she would get cold, and so he put a hand on her shoulder, making her start awake, eyes wide. They narrowed as she focused on him, and he stepped back as she straightened up and yawned.

"Hey," he said quietly. "It would be more comfortable upstairs, you know."

"Yeah." She ran a hand through her hair, not looking at him. "Guess I was more tired than I thought."

He gestured at the book that was tented on the arm of the chair: Ishiguro's _The Remains of the Day_.

"That's one of my favourites," he said. "Are you enjoying it?"

"What? Oh…" She looked at the book, curling her lip. "Yeah, I was - bored, I guess, and you don't have cable. Why the hell don't you have cable?"

She picked up the book, closing it and tossing it aside before glancing up at him, and he eyed her sadly.

"Lacey," he said gently. "I know you like to read. I know how clever you are, you don't need to hide it from me."

She was silent, still not looking at him, and he didn't push it. He heaved a sigh, dropping his eyes and concentrating on the patterned rug, at the stylised vines and roses in the thick pile, intertwining swirls of crimson and olive green amongst the gold.

"We didn't eat," he said then. "Are you hungry? I could make us something."

"No." She rubbed her eyes, sitting up, and pushed herself to her feet. "I think I'll just have a drink."

"Alright," he said calmly. "Let me get you one."

She threw up her arms, her expression one of frustration.

"I can do it myself, Gold, I don't need you to - to - I don't need you, okay?"

She pushed past him, and he let her go, his jaw tightening as he wondered what he'd done. The last thing he remembered they had been on good terms. More than good. She had lain in his arms and let him hold her. It had almost felt like old times. Perhaps he had gotten too close again, and unnerved her. Perhaps it was time to take a step back. God, how he hated this!

Sighing to himself, he made his way through to the kitchen, his shoulders a little slumped. She was stretching up to get a glass from the cupboard, the shirt riding up her thighs and exposing the pale length of her legs. She seemed to sense his approach, and glanced over her shoulder as she set the glass on the counter with a dull clunk.

"You want one?" she asked.

"Why not?"

He watched as she grasped another whisky glass, and she shut the cupboard door and swept past him, glasses in hand. A rush of air and the warm, flowery scent of her brushed his face as she passed, and he stood still for a moment, not wanting to crowd her. After a moment he heard the clink of a bottle against wood, and made his way to the lounge, where she was pouring two large measures of single malt. She handed him one without looking at him, and he took it, sipping at the whisky as he watched her take a swallow. She coughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The atmosphere between them was heavy, a strange, electric tension almost whining in the air around them and setting his teeth on edge.

"I think I'll go to bed," she said, and he nodded.

"Very well," he said, feeling out of his depth. "Are you - um - did you want to sleep in my room?"

"No."

She didn't elaborate, and his fingers drummed on the side of the glass as he wondered what to say to bring her back to him. Letting her have some time to herself usually worked. So did beating up the odd creep that looked at her the wrong way, but he wasn't aware that any of his tenants were behind with their rent, and frankly he didn't have the energy. He decided on giving her space.

"I'll be in the shop tomorrow," he said, his voice cool. "I have quite a lot of paperwork to get through. If you want to meet for lunch you could come over around one."

She shrugged, which he took for agreement.

"Guess I'll see you," she said, and walked out of the lounge without a backward glance, leaving him clutching a glass of whisky that he didn't especially want, his anxiety mounting as he felt her pull away from him.

* * *

Lacey made her way up the stairs on shaking legs, feeling indescribably weary. She readied herself for bed once she had finished the whisky, but kept Gold's shirt on. The smell of him was both pleasant and painful, a comforting familiarity and a reminder of the fact that she would never be his. She would never be loved.

She lay in the dark with her arms behind her head, thinking over what she should do. Perhaps it was just a crush, her subconscious feeling grateful for him taking her in and giving her a safe place to stay, along with a bunch of orgasms that she certainly hadn't expected but wasn't complaining about. Perhaps she'd go back to her usual mode of indifference in a week or so. The lie tasted bitter in her mind as she tried to give it life. In her heart, she knew that this was more than affection born of gratitude.

Eventually she heard his tread as he mounted the stairs, and the strip of warm light beneath the bedroom door was broken by the twin shadows of his feet and the narrow line of his cane. Heart thumping, she waited for him to knock, but he never disturbed her when she slept in her own room, and she was too stubborn and heartsick to go to him herself, so she lay in tense, miserable silence until he went away. The hollow sound of his bedroom door closing, shutting her out, made tears start in her eyes again, and she wiped them away, furious with herself. It didn't even matter. She'd gotten over guys before, and she was damn sure she could get over this one.

* * *

The next day, Gold waited in vain for Lacey to arrive at the shop for lunch, one ear listening at every moment for the click of her heels or the sound of her voice. The clock hands crept towards three, and he told himself that it was unlikely that she'd show now. When he called the house and got no response, his anxiety grew. He wasn't sure what he had done to make her pull away, but backing off didn't seem to have helped, and now she was gone. He closed up early, driving back to the house to double-check that she wasn't there. Her things were still in her room, so she clearly planned on returning, but he couldn't shake that quiet, nagging voice in the back of his mind that was telling him to go and look for her. Nonetheless he waited, seated at the kitchen table and drumming his fingers in a steady rhythm until the clock ticked past five. She should be home by now, and he was beyond worried. It was time to look for her. Sighing to himself, he realised that he had a good idea of where to start.

* * *

Lacey stared at the ring of moisture left by her glass of beer, sitting up to drain the dregs of her drink before smacking the glass down on the bar.

"You want another?" asked the barman, and she nodded.

She was starting to feel pleasantly drunk, and it was helping to numb the sharp pain in her chest, the sense of hurt and loss that she had been nursing since the previous evening.

"What's the matter, Gold throw you out or something?"

A familiar, unwelcome voice made her lip curl, and she glanced to the side to see Keith staring at her. She had heard that he had needed hospital treatment after Gold almost beat him to death, and she wasn't in the least bit sorry. Apparently he was back on his feet again, and blaming her for his misfortune. Great.

"Go fuck yourself," she said absently, nodding her thanks as the barman placed another beer in front of her.

"Yeah, well, I'm guessing he got tired of trash, huh?" said Keith nastily. "Probably couldn't stand you giving it up so easily. Guys like a challenge."

"Is that what you tell yourself whenever a girl turns you down?" she said innocently, and the barman let out a chuckle and turned it into a cough. Keith scowled.

"Fuck you, Lacey," he growled, and stomped off.

"In your dreams, dickhead!" she shouted after him.

He waved a hand at her, and she glared at his back, but her attention was caught by the door opening and Gold stepping into the club. She turned back to her drink. What the hell was _he_ doing here? Taking a gulp of cold beer, she listened to the tap of his cane as he approached, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She could feel his presence as he stepped up next to her, and she glanced across at him. His face was calm, but there was a tic below his left eye as he glanced over at Keith.

"Was he bothering you?" he asked, and for a moment she considered saying yes. Watching him beat the crap out of Keith again would be a pleasant distraction, but she wasn't really in the mood. She shook her head, and he nodded.

"I missed you at lunch," he said quietly, and she shrugged.

"Yeah, I didn't feel like it."

"Okay." He watched as she took another slurp of her beer. "Are you coming home? I could cook dinner."

"Not really hungry." She took another drink, the beer cool in her throat.

"Did you eat at all today?" he asked, and she shrugged again. Gold sighed.

"Lacey, I realise that I must have done something to piss you off, but I can't for the life of me think what it was, so would you please tell me?"

 _You showed me that I have a heart. And that it's a delicate, fragile thing. You showed me you could break it._

"You haven't done anything," she said in a monotone, and slid off her seat. "You're right, I should probably eat something. Let's go."

She pulled on her coat and marched towards the door without looking back, but she could tell he was following. Her emotions were in turmoil; part of her wanted to leave: just pack the few things she had at his place and get out, but she had nowhere to go except her dad's place, and it wasn't as though they were on good terms. She had nothing. No exit strategy. Gold would give her money if she asked for it, but she hated the idea of taking more from him only to leave him. It wasn't his fault that she'd fallen in love with him. It wasn't his fault that he still loved this Belle person, either. Maybe she could work past it. Maybe she could settle for only being - whatever she was to him. She clenched her jaw as she turned into the alleyway that ran beside the club. Maybe they could be okay.

"The car's this way," he said, from behind her, and she spun on her toes to face him.

"In a minute," she said briskly, and winked at him. "Kiss me."

His eyebrows shot up, his mouth falling open, and her smile widened. She loved that she could render him speechless, that she could surprise him so much. He stepped forwards and she grabbed the lapels of his suit, pushing him back against the alley wall and kissing him, her tongue sliding between his lips to taste him, a contented sound rumbling deep in her throat. He let the cane fall, his arms going around her, and she rubbed herself against him, feeling him grow hard, feeling his breath quicken as his tongue stroked hers. It felt good to kiss him, to press her mouth to his and taste him, a familiar, sweet warmth that made her feel safe. That made her feel that he wanted her. She slipped a hand in between them, gripping him through his pants, and he gasped into her mouth, the kiss growing messy and frantic. She pulled her mouth away, kissing down his neck as she palmed him.

"I want you," she whispered, and he chuckled, a low buzz in his chest that made her shiver.

"I want you too," he said breathlessly. "Let's - let's go home."

"I want you _now_ ," she said firmly, and bit down on him, tasting salt on his skin.

He groaned, and she squeezed him in her hand, running her tongue over the place she had bitten him to soothe the skin before sucking his earlobe in between her lips. He gasped, pushing against her hand, and she quickly unbuckled his belt to open up his pants before sinking to her knees in front of him.

"No, sweetheart," he breathed, shaking his head firmly. "Not - not here, please. Not like this."

" _Exactly_ like this," she whispered, and reached for his underwear, licking her lips at the thought of having him in her mouth.

"Lacey, no!" His hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her up, and she wrenched free, glaring at him.

"Why not?" she asked sulkily, as he bent to pick up his cane. His mouth was set in a thin line, his jaw tight.

"Because I'm not going to fuck you in some back alley like a bloody tramp, that's why!" he snapped, flicking his hair back as he turned to her.

"Isn't that what I am?" she flung at him. "Isn't that what _everyone_ in this town is with you? You call the shots, you hold all the power, and they have to get on their metaphorical knees and suck you off if they want to keep a roof over their heads. They all think I'm your live-in whore, you know that, right?"

He clenched his jaw a little, his back rigid, hands clasped tight over the cane handle.

"And you?" he asked quietly. "What do you think?"

"Well, what the hell _can_ I think?" she demanded. "I live there rent free and I bang you senseless most nights, so maybe they've got a point."

"You do realise that's what a lot of couples do," he said calmly, and she snorted in derision.

"Oh, don't make me laugh, Gold, we're not a _couple_ , we were _never_ a couple!"

He closed his eyes then, as though she had said something painful, and when he opened them he had that sad look she hated.

"I know we've never actually discussed our relationship," he said. "But…"

"We don't _have_ a relationship!" she snapped, raising her arms and letting them fall. "You felt sorry for me and you took me in, and don't think I'm not grateful, because I am, but it's not a _relationship_ , and I know that for you it never will be!"

"I don't understand where this is coming from," he said evenly. "What makes you think that?"

"Because I'm not _her_!" she shouted, feeling the sting of tears prick the back of her eyes. "I'm not _Belle_! Yeah, I know all about the love of your life! You said her name in your fucking _sleep_! You said you loved her!"

He looked stricken, and she paced back and forth, blinking rapidly to stop herself from crying.

"Was she like me?" she asked. "Another lost girl you took in? Did you think you could fix her, too?"

"Lacey…" he said gently, reaching for her, and she shook him off.

"Did you take her off the streets and - and _fuck_ her, and make her into something else? Something you thought was _better_? Is that what you want to do to me?"

"Please." His voice was soft, almost a caress. "Please, sweetheart, don't do this."

"I'm such an _idiot_!" she fumed. "I thought maybe you were lonely, that you had no one. That you were alone, like me. I thought maybe we could help each other."

"I think we do," he said, and she shook her head.

"You loved her," she said, pointing an accusing finger. "You _still_ love her, right?"

"Yes."

His voice was calm, his hands tight on the handle of his cane, and she stopped pacing, the pain of his admission piercing her. She had expected it, of course, but it still hurt like hell to hear him say it aloud. She swallowed, unsure if she wanted to ask the next question.

"Did she die?" she whispered, and his mouth twitched, the briefest of smiles.

"No."

That was something. She wasn't sure if it made things better or worse. If he'd been grieving, she could have helped him get over it. Pining was a different story.

"But she left you," she said quietly, and his jaw clenched a little.

"Yes."

She felt her lip tremble, and bit it hard enough to hurt.

"Will she ever come back?"

He was silent for a moment, then he flicked his hair back out of his eyes.

"I don't know," he admitted, and she licked her lips, her chest feeling heavy, as though it were filled with tears.

"If she does come back," she said then. "What - what happens to me?"

His mouth flattened, his eyes dark with sadness, with compassion. She didn't want to see it.

"I don't know," he said again, his voice soft.

 _Liar_. She nodded, as though she believed him, and turned away.

"I think I'll walk home," she said, and he was silent.

"Very well," he said eventually. "But I think we need to talk about this, Lacey."

She shook her head, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until she was out of the alleyway. She could feel his eyes on her back, and as she turned the corner she glanced around to see him watching her, a lone figure with his hair ruffled by the light breeze, his cane grounded in front of him. It made her heart ache, and she pulled her eyes away and moved out of sight.

* * *

It took her longer than usual to walk home, her body weary from lack of sleep and feeling the effects of the beer. She made it eventually, and saw that his Cadillac was already parked up, ticking slightly as the engine cooled. The lights were on in the house, and she wondered if he was cooking something. Not that she felt like eating, particularly, but she knew she ought to. Sure enough, when she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, the scent of garlic and onions swept out and surrounded her, and her stomach gave a traitorous rumble. She hung up her coat, making her way through to the kitchen, and saw Gold stirring a pan of something. He glanced across at her.

"I thought we'd just have pasta," he said. "Do you want wine?"

She nodded, and he set down the spoon, leaving a deep red smear on the counter as he reached for the wine bottle and poured them each a glass. The walk home had helped her head to clear, and she felt a little more lucid, so the wine would probably get her drunk again. She looked forward to it.

They ate the pasta in near silence, and by the time they were done she could barely remember eating a bite. She downed two glasses of wine, though, and Gold looked sad all over again, which just made her want to drink more. He washed and dried the dishes, which she usually did, but she felt as though she was rooted to her chair, turning the wineglass around and around in her fingers as though it was some sort of magical artefact that would summon a genie to cure all her woes. Gold finished stacking the clean plates and wiped his hands on a towel before throwing it aside.

"So," he said, turning to her. "I think we ought to discuss this, don't you?"

Lacey shrugged, throwing back the last of her wine and reaching to pour herself another.

"It would probably be best if you weren't drunk for the conversation," he said carefully, and she scowled at him. He sighed again.

"Lacey, I don't understand why this is upsetting you," he said patiently. "Whatever my - past - was, it doesn't change the here and now. I invited you to come and live with me, and you accepted. We've grown close, I'd like to think."

' _Close',_ she thought. _God, that's almost as fucking bad as 'friends'._

She worked her jaw a little, looking up at him.

"I just - I didn't know you loved someone, that's all," she said. "I just feel - I just feel as though I'm trespassing here. I feel like I'll never be enough for you, do you get that?"

His eyes closed for a moment, and when he looked at her again there was a deep despair in them, a sad sense of regret and bitter self-loathing.

"I understand that," he said quietly. "More than you know. But please believe me when I say that I don't want anyone else. I'm happy to have you here. I want you here."

"What about your _Belle_?" she asked pointedly, and he almost winced.

"Belle - is not here." he said, and his face was tight, as though it caused him pain to speak the words.

"But if she comes back?" she persisted, and he pushed himself to his feet with a sigh.

"Look, I don't even know if that's possible," he said, a little sharply. "And even if it were, you would still have a place here."

Lacey slammed her glass down.

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" she snapped. "A _place_? As what, your fucking _maid_?"

"Lacey…"

He let his head roll back with a groan, and she shoved back her chair, pushing herself upwards with the help of the table top, a little unsteady on her feet.

"Forget it," she muttered. "I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow."

"Lacey, please!"

He put his hand on her arm as she turned away, the pressure gentle, but insistent, and she sighed, turning back to face him. His eyes were wide, pleading, his expression one of genuine concern, and it made her want to cry all over again.

"Please," he whispered. "Please don't go. I don't want you to be upset. Please, talk to me, sweetheart, I want to understand this."

"I'm not your sweetheart," she said immediately, and he dropped her arm, shrinking back a little, as though she had hurt him. She sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. This wasn't helping.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" she said. "Bad day, bad night. I guess I'm being a bitch, right? Your past is your own business, not mine."

He gave her that sad look again, so she reached out to him, running her hand over his chest, and he dropped his eyes to her fingers, shivering a little at her touch. She grinned to herself. Lost love or not, she could always reach him like this, could always make him shudder and groan at her touch and lose his mind when she went to his bed. she stepped forward and gently kissed his cheek, trailing her lips along his jawline and breathing in the scent of his cologne, and was gratified by the way his breath hardened. Perhaps she _could_ be his. Perhaps she could push the thoughts of this other woman from his mind and make him hers, fully and completely _hers_. What else did she have, after all? She stepped closer, pressing herself up against him, and he gasped as she began kissing his neck, running her tongue over his warm skin.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't want to fight, Gold."

He began kissing her neck in turn, his tongue flickering over her pulse point and making her shiver with pleasure.

"I don't want to fight either," he said softly, and she grinned against his ear, slipping her hand between them to rub at him.

"Good." She nipped at his earlobe with her teeth. "Let's not fight. Let's fuck, instead."

He groaned against her, his hands sliding down her back to squeeze her rear, and she felt her belly clench with desire for him, for his touch, for the fingers that could work pure magic on her. He pulled her tight against him, and she ground her hips in a circle, making him swear under his breath.

"Bed?" he growled, and she shook her head.

"Here," she said breathlessly. "Right here, right now. Shove me against the wall and take me!"

He kissed her hungrily, his mouth hot and wet and tasting of red wine and the sweet headiness of the tomato and basil sauce they had eaten. They moved slowly, Gold pushing her gently until her back hit the wall, and she twined her arms around his neck as he slid his hands over her, gently squeezing her curves through the tight dress she was wearing. Lacey undulated, pushing herself against him, feeling the hard length of him on her belly, and he slipped a hand between her legs to cup her, making her moan with anticipation. His thumb pressed against her, rubbing in a tiny circle and spreading the wetness that was already forming, and she groaned in approval. Hands sank into his hair, letting the soft strands slip through her fingers as she deepened the kiss, his lips soft and warm and slippery with their mingled saliva, and his thumb moved higher, tucking into the waistband of her panties and dragging them down. His other hand reached up and tugged, pulling the panties over her hips and dragging them down her thighs, and she wriggled until they hit the floor at her feet, stepping out of them and leaving her bare to his touch. His fingertips danced over her skin, forefinger dipping into the heat and wetness at the apex of her thighs, and she pulled her mouth from his.

"Yes!" she whispered. "Please!"

His finger entered her, pushing deep, and she wriggled again, trying to get him all the way inside her. Gold kissed down her neck, sending another finger to join the first, and Lacey clung to him, moving her hips as she rode his hand, her tongue flickering out to taste him. The pad of his thumb started to rub against her, making her gasp and moan, making the perspiration start on her forehead and upper lip and her cheeks flush with pleasure. He was pumping his hand in a steady rhythm, the thumb moving in circles, and she could feel herself approaching climax, could feel herself tensing and getting ready to fall apart in his arms.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he growled, his voice a low rumble in her ear, sending shivers through her. "Come for me, Lacey, and let me taste you."

She let go with a cry, her heart pounding, hips pumping, and her grip tightened on him as she bucked against his hand, as waves of pleasure crashed through her. He groaned into her ear and stroked her through it, his hand grown slick from her fluids, and she let her head fall back against the wall with a dull thump as she tried to get her breath. Gold pulled his fingers from her, reaching up to slip them into his mouth, and she took heavy gulps of air as she watched him.

"Your turn," she whispered, and his lips twitched in a rare smile.

He slid his hands behind her legs, sliding down the backs of her thighs and lifting her up a little so that he could bend at the knees and push upwards, and she reached between them to help him, unfastening his pants and freeing him, using her hand to guide him into her. He was hard, already weeping cum from the end of his cock, and she spread the slippery fluid over the head with her thumb before positioning him against her. He pushed upwards slowly with a deep groan of satisfaction and she sank down onto him, letting her heels drop to the floor, one leg curling around his as she peppered his neck with kisses. He felt so right there, it had always been so, and her heart ached to think that he didn't love her, that he _couldn't_ love her, when she wanted him so much.

He began to move then, and although she knew it had to be hell on his bad leg it felt _so fucking good_ that she didn't care. The friction was incredible, and the heat of their bodies and the scent of him and the way that he whispered her name as he kissed her neck. She slid her hands up his chest over the thin silk, rubbing her thumbs across his sensitive nipples, and he let out a strangled gasp as she squeezed them between fingers and thumbs, his teeth biting down into her. She'd have a bruise there, and she didn't give a single shit. Let them all see, this stuck-up town that looked down on her. Let them all know who she belonged to. Who her _heart_ belonged to.

His movements were quickening, and she could feel him nearing his peak, his cock thick and hot and delicious inside her, so she thrust against him, hands reaching for his hair again. He slammed her against the wall, making her moan in pleasure, her fingernails scraping his scalp to show her approval, and his tongue swiped up her neck to her ear, the rasp of his stubble a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.

"Yes!" she whispered, feeling him ready himself. "Yes, yes, yes! Come for me! Come inside me!"

He let go with a deep groan, and she felt him pulse, felt him shoot his hot seed into her. She clenched her muscles, pulling it from him, drawing it deep as he pumped against her.

Eventually he let her leg drop, falling against her a little, and she untangled her fingers from his hair as she panted for breath, her cheeks flushed and hot, her hair a tousled mess. His dark eyes were heavy with desire, his lips parted and swollen, his hair awry, and she felt a burst of love for him go through her, burning white hot and leaving her a hollowed-out shell. He pressed his forehead to hers, his skin damp with sweat, and for a moment she could pretend that he loved her, that she was enough. But then he pulled back with a tiny smile, uncertainty in his expression as he watched for her reaction, and she was reminded that she was _not_ his. She remembered the way he had spoken Belle's name with a quiet reverence, with a love that seemed too pure to be real, and she was lost all over again.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm sorry! I will fix it! Promise! Third time's the charm, right?**


	3. Welcome Home

**A/N: I didn't manage to fix it last time, so let's hope I can this time :)**

* * *

Lacey swallowed, blinking hard to stop the tears coming. She could deal with those later. When she was alone. Gold looked at her curiously as he slipped out of her and fastened his pants, his balance unsteady due to the pressure on his bad leg. He slipped a finger beneath her chin, raising her head so that he could catch her eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, and she licked her lips.

"I think maybe I should move out," she said, and for a moment she saw anguish in his gaze, and pain, and loss. But then the shutters flew up and his eyes were blank and dead and cold. He turned away, tucking in his shirt, his shoulders a little hunched.

"I see," he said quietly. "Can we at least talk about this?"

She bent to pull up her underwear, wriggling her hips and tugging down the dress.

"I don't see how that would help," she muttered, and his shoulders slumped further. He turned back to the table, picking up his wineglass, and took a drink. She watched him as he swallowed, feeling miserable. Feeling guilty.

"Where will you go?" he asked, and she hesitated, trying in vain to think of something.

"I don't know," she said eventually. "Guess I'll have to find somewhere, huh?"

She turned to go, but he reached for her hand, gently squeezing.

"Lacey," he whispered. "At least stay tonight. Please."

She wavered, but she had nowhere to go, no plan, and she really hadn't thought any of this through. She nodded, and he seemed to relax a little.

"I'm going to bed," he said then. "Will you come with me?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, to start the agonising process of cutting him out of her life, sawing a jagged line around her heart and prising it out to leave her empty and broken. It was too painful, though, and she wanted to lie in his arms one last time, so she nodded, linking her fingers through his and following him out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room. They washed and undressed in silence, climbing into bed and wrapping their arms around one another, and she laid her head against his chest and felt the rise and fall as his breathing steadied. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears trickling out of the corners as she clung to him, breathing in his scent and wishing that she was enough.

* * *

Lacey was still there in the morning when he awoke, and for a moment Gold forgot about their fight, and her pain, and the fact that she wanted to leave. For a brief, blissful moment all he could think of was the way she felt in his arms, and the way she smelt of Belle. But then she looked up at him through eyes ringed with smudged mascara, and pulled away, and he felt a sharp pain in his heart. He watched as she slipped from the bed and went to the bathroom, and after a moment or two he heard the shower being turned on. Sighing to himself, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his robe, walking downstairs to put a kettle on for the morning coffee. He left it brewing and made toast and eggs, putting the plates on the table just as Lacey came downstairs with her newly-washed hair dried and shining. He wanted to stroke it, to take her in his arms and hold her close, but he held back, and she took her seat in silence.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked tentatively, as she poked at the scrambled eggs without enthusiasm. Lacey shrugged.

"Not really," she said. "You done with the coffee?"

Gold poured her a cup, and she added cream and sugar, sitting back in her chair with the mug in both hands.

"You should eat," he said, although he had no appetite himself, and she merely shrugged again, so he left it.

"Do you - have plans today?" he asked, and she flicked her eyes up at him. They pierced him to the bone, clear blue and full of sadness.

"I'm still moving out, Gold," she whispered, and he felt the pain all over again.

"I see," he said quietly, setting down his fork. "Well then, perhaps I can help."

"I don't need your help," she said automatically, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" he said dryly. "I own almost every piece of real estate in this town, so unless you're thinking of moving in with Regina, I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter."

Lacey opened her mouth, appearing to struggle with something, and finally nodded.

"There's an apartment above the library," he said, a fresh lance of pain stabbing him at the memories of Belle in that library, and her brief stay in the apartment. "If you like it, I'm happy to let you stay there for free."

"I don't need your charity," she said stubbornly, and he sighed.

"It's not charity," he said, his voice sharper than he intended. "The library has been empty since - look, you staying there would be a little security for the place. You could - you could be a sort of caretaker. Keep an eye on the books."

He flashed her a brief smile that didn't reach his eyes, trying to lighten the mood, and she put down her coffee cup, frowning at him.

"I'll pay rent," she said insistently. "I'm not - look, Gold, I'm not comfortable with taking any more from you, okay? I can pay the rent, I just don't have enough for a deposit right now."

He sat back in his chair a little, drumming slow fingertips against the tabletop as he watched her take another drink.

"Well, would you consider allowing me to at least waive the deposit?" he asked coldly. "Given that you're so intent on not spending another minute in my company?"

Her mouth twitched, and she stared into her coffee cup.

"I have to do this," she said softly, and he ran a hand over his face with a weary sigh.

"Fine," he said, aware of how tired and beaten he sounded. "Let me show you around the place, see if it's to your liking."

She nodded, and he pushed back his chair and went to get changed, his breakfast almost untouched.

* * *

They walked to the library in silence, and Gold led her up the stairs to the apartment. It was still clean and neat, just as Belle had left it, with a thin layer of dust on the surfaces. She began to look around, and he stood in the centre of the small lounge with his hands on his cane, remembering the last time he had been here. He and Belle had made up, and been on a couple of dates, and she had invited him up for a drink. He had lain her down on the battered leather sofa and unfastened the buttons of her dress, kissing her all over and using his tongue on her delicate skin until she screamed his name. Afterwards, she had held him close and whispered that she loved him, that she was going to come back home. They had been happy. He swallowed, looking away and blinking rapidly as his eyes stung with tears.

Lacey came out of the bedroom, rubbing a hand up and down her arm and chewing her lip in a way that was so reminiscent of Belle that he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. But she had thrown a wall up around herself, an invisible barrier to keep him out, and he stayed where he was. She looked across at him, her face sober.

"This was her place, wasn't it?" she asked. "Belle's place."

He hesitated, but saw no reason to lie to her.

"Yes," he said. "I could always find you somewhere else."

"It's okay." She looked around. "It's nice. Convenient. I mean it's not far to stagger when I've had a few too many, right?"

He looked at the floor. "Right."

Lacey ran a hand through her hair, casting her eyes around the room.

"Besides, she's not coming back, is she?" she said. "Not like it matters."

She held out her hand, and he dropped the keys into it.

"Rent's due on the first of every month," he said, his voice sounding hollow, and she nodded again.

"You'll get it. Thanks, Gold. For everything, I mean it."

He closed his eyes, wishing it didn't sound so final.

"Your things," he said. "Do you want me to have them sent over?"

She shook her head. "I'll come over later and get them, if that's okay. Thought I'd clean the place up a bit before I move in."

"Of course."

He was silent for a moment, and she began wandering around the lounge, picking up couch cushions and banging them to shake off the dust.

"I'll see you later, then," he added, and she nodded without looking up, so he let himself out of the front door and made his way down the stairs, feeling as though his heart would break.

He walked slowly across the road to Granny's Diner, his mind in turmoil, and limped inside, striding to the bar and ordering a whisky. Granny raised her eyebrows, a disapproving look on her face.

"Little early, isn't it?" she remarked, and he stared at her until she shrugged and poured him a measure. Gold nodded his thanks and sat staring into its depths, breathing in the scent of it as he tried to think of what to do about Lacey.

"You okay?"

David's voice made him look around, and he shrugged, but he was clearly worse at hiding his feelings than he thought, because David's eyes narrowed.

"You look terrible," he said. "Did something happen?"

"No more than usual," said Gold dryly, and took a mouthful of the whisky. It burned on the way down, and he shook his head. "I screwed up, but that's hardly anything new."

David looked curious, leaning on the bar with one elbow.

"What's up?" he asked, and Gold sighed.

"Lacey wants to move out," he said. "I'm losing her, Charming."

"I thought you two had made up," said David. "You seemed pretty close when I saw you the other day."

Gold hesitated. "She knows about Belle," he admitted. "I - said her name in my sleep. Said I loved her."

David winced. "Yeah, the wrong name never goes down well. What did you tell her?"

"Some version of the truth," said Gold wryly, gesturing with his glass. "That I love Belle, that I lost her. That she's probably not coming back."

"Well, can't you tell her how you feel?" asked David. "Explain that it's in the past, and that you want to move forward with her?"

"When I've already admitted to being in love with Belle?" said Gold, raising an eyebrow. "How would that look? She already feels as though she's some sort of rebound, that I don't really care for her."

"So, work with that," suggested David. "Tell her you had this big love and big loss, but you want to make things work with her. What do you have to lose?"

Gold raised his eyes to the ceiling with a frustrated look.

"Everything, of course!" he snapped. "It was going well until the other night. I thought I could keep her with me. I thought I could keep her safe."

"What changed?" asked David curiously. "I mean, I don't know Lacey, but she doesn't seem the type to care too much what people think of her."

Gold's laugh held no amusement.

"Oh, she cares," he said knowingly. "She tells herself she doesn't, but she cares a great deal. Being second best isn't something she'd appreciate."

David sighed, and shifted the position of his elbows on the bar, leather jacket squeaking against the counter as he moved.

"Well, look at it this way," he said. "She must care about you, if the thought of not measuring up to Belle upsets her so much. Maybe you're not the only one with unexpressed feelings here."

Gold gave a hollow laugh, and took a mouthful of whisky, letting it burn his throat.

"What, so she loves me?" he asked dryly. "I'm afraid not, Charming. Belle loved me. For reasons I have never been able to comprehend, Belle loved me. Lacey is not Belle."

"She is," said David quietly. "She's both." He turned towards Gold, leaning in a little. "Look, remember when Snow went to you to get the forgetting potion? She didn't remember loving me, but her love returned, and true love's kiss broke the spell."

Gold's mouth twitched, and he looked down at his glass, the harsh overhead lights of the diner reflected in the whisky.

"We don't have the best track record with true love's kiss," he said quietly. "That was my fault. It would have worked if I'd let it. If I hadn't been afraid."

"It could work again," said David gently. "You just have to have faith. Faith in you and Belle, like I have faith in Snow."

Gold swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. "She's not Belle," he whispered, and David shook his head.

"She is," he said firmly. "It may be buried deep, but somewhere inside her, Belle's there. She's there and she's waiting for you to bring her out. To be the man she loves."

Gold set down his glass with more force than he intended, shaking his hair back from his face.

"I tried that!" he said fiercely. "I tried being the man Belle fell in love with. Lacey _despises_ that man! No, fucking worse, she pities him! So I tried to be what Lacey wanted, but that didn't work either. I can't _be_ what she wants. She can't love me."

"I think you're being too hard on yourself," said David. "She was happy with you until she found out about Belle, maybe she thinks you're holding back with her."

Gold looked away, grimacing, and David nodded slowly.

"You _are_ holding back, aren't you?" he said knowingly. "What if the reason she feels like second best is because that's how you see her?"

Gold sighed, running a hand over his face.

"Perhaps," he admitted, feeling guilty, and David leant on the bar beside him.

"Do you love her?" he asked gently, and Gold hesitated. David nodded in understanding.

"Maybe you need to straighten out how you feel about her, and tell her," he said. "Don't hold back, Gold. Be honest with her, and tell her. At least then you'll both know where you stand."

Gold threw back the whisky, pushing himself away from the bar.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and David squeezed his shoulder.

*I hope things work out," he said, and Gold nodded, turning his back and walking from the diner.

He thought over what Charming had told him as he made his way back to the house on foot, leaving the car where it was parked. It was certainly true that his feelings for Lacey were complicated. When he looked at her he saw Belle, but she was also very much _not_ Belle, and it was unbelievably painful to have his love so close and be unable to touch her. Rage burned in him at what Regina had done, a white-hot fire that scorched through him and devoured the last of his self-pity. Perhaps Charming was right. He _had_ been holding back with Lacey, hoping she would somehow turn to him one day and be his Belle once more. Hoping his kiss would wake her as though he were Charming himself. He snorted under his breath in derision at the thought. He was _certainly_ no Prince Charming. But he was Rumplestiltskin. He was the Dark One, the most powerful wielder of magic there was. There had to be a way.

* * *

He waited until she came over that evening to collect her things. She was subdued when he opened the door, closed off, her eyes red-rimmed as though she had been crying. Perhaps it was the poor night's sleep she had had. He himself felt wired and nervous, and a little light-headed, having drunk another couple of whiskies before she arrived. Anxiety clawed at him, whispering in his ear like a malevolent spirit as he watched her mount the stairs with her back to him. He followed her more slowly, and by the time he had reached her room she was already pulling clothing out of the closet and throwing it on the bed, where she had placed a suitcase.

"Would you mind driving me back when I'm done?" she asked, not looking at him as she folded skirts and tops. "Don't wanna drag this thing through town, you know? If you can't, it's cool. I'll call a cab."

Gold was silent, watching as she placed the folded items in her case, one by one. So little to mark her time there. So few things to take as she left his life. He took a breath, words jumbling inside his head as he tried to organise his thoughts.

"Lacey," he said quietly. "I - I want to talk to you. About - about us."

Lacey shot him a brief look, picking up a little dress and folding it quickly before dropping it in the case.

"Us?" she asked flatly. "There is no _us,_ I'm moving out. Are you saying you want to date, or something? That you want to meet up for a quick bang once a week?" She snorted, turning back to her pile of clothing and folding another dress. "Sorry Gold, not interested. I mean, you're good, don't get me wrong, but…"

"That's not what I'm saying!" he said sharply. "Would you please look at me?"

Sighing, she stuffed the dress into the case and turned to face him, her jaw working a little.

"If you want the apartment, it's yours," he said. "I won't stop you going."

"Good," she said.

"But you're here, now," he added. "I - I don't know why you felt you had to leave, but I want to try and fix whatever it is that's broken. If you'll let me."

"There's nothing to fix," she said impatiently, rolling her eyes. "I don't even know why you care!"

"Because I don't want to see you hurt," he said. "And I don't - I don't want you to go."

"It's been decided," she said bluntly, and he felt as though she'd punched him, Belle's words bubbling out of her as though it were their first meeting. He felt just as in awe of her now as he had been then, and far less able to hide it. He tried to get to the heart of what he thought might be wrong. Why she wanted to leave.

"You were upset yesterday," he said. "When - when I told you about Belle."

She winced at the name, folding her arms around herself protectively and flicking her hair back as she looked over at him.

"Not every day the guy you're sleeping with tells you he's in love with someone else," she muttered, and he swallowed hard.

"Look, it's not what you think," he said gently. "I can't - it's hard for me to explain. My feelings for Belle, and my feelings for you are…"

He hesitated, and she watched him with narrowed eyes as he struggled to put it into words, lifting a hand and letting it fall against his leg with a soft slap.

"It's complicated," he finished lamely, and Lacey curled her lip, turning back to her packing.

"Guys always say it's fucking _complicated_ ," she said. "When in reality it's simple; they're being dicks. Not like I didn't expect it at some point. Every guy I've ever met has been a dick. Stands to reason you would be too."

She began stuffing clothes into the case without folding them, clearly eager to be away from him, and he tried to think of something else to say to keep her there.

"Please stay, Lacey," he whispered, and she straightened up with a sigh.

"Look, Gold, I'm sorry I asked you anything," she said. "Your past is your past, and it's none of my business."

"I don't want to live in the past," he said quietly. "I want to move forward. With you."

She looked up, surprised, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Yeah?" she asked. "What about Belle? You just gonna toss me aside if she comes back? Because I'm telling you now, Gold, if you think for one moment…"

"Lacey, what do you feel for me?" he interrupted, and for a moment she stood there with her mouth open, staring at him.

"What?" she asked blankly, and he took a step forward, making her eyes widen.

"For me," he said, his voice a low whisper, and he pressed a hand to his heart. "What do you feel for me?"

She licked her lips, suddenly nervous, her eyelids fluttering.

"Why?" she asked. "Why does it matter, it's not like it changes anything."

He hesitated, taking a breath, trying to be brave, to open his heart, to offer himself to her.

"Because I care for you," he said gently. "I care for you a great deal. I wondered - I wondered if you cared for me, too."

She looked up at him from beneath thick lashes, throwing aside the little skirt in her hands and putting her fists on her hips.

"You _care_ for me?" she snapped. "What does that even _mean_? You care enough to want to see me every day, or you'd care if I got hit by a truck?"

"I care about you!" he said sharply. "I don't want you to leave, I want you here, with me! Now answer the question, what do you feel for me?"

"I don't _know_!" she shouted, stamping her foot in frustration. "I guess I like you, okay? You're nice, and you're kind, and I'm - I'm not _used_ to that!"

"I don't understand why that's a bad thing," he began, and she shook her head vehemently.

"Because I know you're still in love with _Belle_ , you idiot!" she said insistently. "I know you think of _her_ when you're with me, and that she was some perfect fucking princess, and I'm just some trashy slut you feel sorry for, and I - I can't _stand_ it, Gold!"

She broke off, blinking hard, and there were tears in her eyes. Her words pierced him like arrows, and he squeezed his eyes shut, hating himself for what had happened to her, for how he could hurt her so, so much, without even meaning to.

"Lacey…" he whispered, reaching for her, and she shook him off.

"I can't be second-best any more!" she went on, her voice shaking a little. "I've been a disappointment all my fucking life, and I can't do it with _you_ , do you understand? I can't stay here when I'm in _love_ with you and you're thinking of _her_."

Her words hit him, a blow to the heart that left him almost breathless.

"You - you _love_ me?" he whispered incredulously.

Lacey gaped at him, a blush rising in her cheeks, and her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she tried to speak. She whirled away from him, busying herself with the packing, stuffing the clothes into her case in her haste to be gone. His heart was thumping, a spark of hope kindled in him. Perhaps something of Belle remained. Perhaps he could bring her back to him. He reached for her with a shaking hand that closed on her shoulder and made her flinch.

"Lacey," he breathed. "Please. Please look at me."

She turned slowly, eyes on the floor, and he waited as she lifted her head to look him in the eye. Her eyes were the clear blue of a winter sky, ringed with dark lashes and bright with pain. He reached up to touch her cheek, forefinger stroking over the softness of her skin and making her breath hitch. She swallowed, seeming to draw herself up.

"I had no idea," he breathed, and she shrugged.

"If it makes you feel any better, it was a shock to me too," she muttered. "Doesn't change anything."

"Of course it does."

He kept stroking her, his fingers dancing along her jawline and running through her hair, as though it would soothe her. As though it would keep her there with him. She leaned into his touch, her lower lip trembling a little, then pulled back, jerking her head away.

"I meant what I said," she said stubbornly. "I can't stay here. Not when you feel nothing for me."

"How can you say that?" he asked gently. "Of course I have feelings for you."

"Yeah, I know," she said witheringly. "You _care_. Great. Just what every girl wants to hear."

She made to turn away, but stopped at his touch on her arm. Sighing deeply, she looked up at him again, her expression one of weary resentment.

"I want to try to show you how I feel," he said then, wishing that he could put it into words. Wishing that he was certain of his feelings, and could reassure her properly. Wishing he wasn't so fucking useless. Lacey pursed her lips, and he could almost _feel_ her mind working as she ran her eyes up and down his body, her gaze burning him. Hesitantly, he reached up to cup her cheek once more, and this time she didn't pull away. She licked her lips, the tip of her pink tongue flicking out to moisten them and leave a glistening sheen of saliva.

"Okay, Gold," she said quietly. "You want me, right? You think it'll change anything, if we have sex? You think that'll fix things?"

"I'm not asking for that," he said patiently.

"Yeah?" She shook her hair back and lifted her chin, seeming to warm to her role, to the part she was playing. The mask she wore. "Well, maybe I am. One last time, how about it?"

"I don't want one last time," he insisted. "I want to fix what we have, Lacey. Please, just let me try."

She looked him over, a smirk on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. But there was sadness there too, and pain, and loss, and a terrible desolation that she tried to hide behind sooty lashes and painted lids and a twist of her soft mouth. He wished he knew what to say to make her feel better.

"Okay," she said, and her voice had lowered, gone throaty. "Let's try."

She lunged at him, kissing him fiercely, her hands pushing the jacket from his shoulders and down his arms. Eyes gone wide at her eagerness, he shrugged it off, throwing it behind him without looking and hoping that it hit the chair rather than the floor. Lacey bit down into his lower lip, grabbing at his tie and picking at the knot, and he caught her wrists in his hand, his fingers wrapping around them firmly as he pulled his mouth from hers.

"No, no, don't do that," he said gently, and she fell back on her heels, frowning. He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, running his thumb over her lower lip, already deep pink and swollen from the pressure of his mouth.

"I want to show you something," he whispered, and the hand turned to cup her cheek. "Let me do this, sweetheart. Let me - let me try to show you how I feel."

She blinked a few times, uncertainty on her face, and he tried to give her a reassuring smile. He took a step back from her, releasing her wrists, and then held out his hand for her to take. She slid her palm across his, her hand warm and smooth, and her curled his fingers around it, gently pulling her with him out of her room and along the landing to his. The room was dark and cool, the curtains already drawn, and he turned on the lamps, their soft, warm glow blooming outwards and throwing shadows around the room. He moved to close the door, and Lacey stood there a little awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. He removed his cufflinks, setting them on the dresser, and tugged open the knot of his tie, pulling at the length of dark blue silk until it came undone, and laying it over the back of the chair. She watched him unbutton his shirt, oddly guarded and reticent, and he shrugged it off and sent it to join the tie before stepping up to her.

He was nervous, and the only thing that was allowing him to hide it was the feeling that she was every bit as nervous. It was a comfort, a reminder of what had been, a reminder of his first time with Belle and how they had both felt, their insecurity and anxiety. His hands had shook as he undressed her, her touch hesitant and delicate on his skin as they shed their layers, as they revealed themselves. She had been pale and perfect, a vision of loveliness laid down on his bed, and he had felt awkward and old and ugly, embarrassed by his thin frame and his greying hair and his ruined leg. But Belle had smiled up at him as though she saw something wonderful, and had kissed the knotted scar tissue and the lumps of badly healed bone. He had kissed her back, pressing his lips to every inch of her skin, and the first cries of pleasure he had drawn from her had been like music.

Lacey's eyes were wide as he stroked his hands gently over her curves, her expression uncertain. Her dress was small and tight, and he had to pull it over her head, which left her hair tousled and her cheeks a little flushed, and he smiled at her, reaching up to cradle her face in his hands. She was breathing hard as he bent his head to her, and let out a tiny moan as their lips met, as his mouth pressed down on hers. She ran her hands up his naked back, her fingertips sending shivers through him, and he parted her lips with his tongue, gently sliding inside her mouth to taste her. She pushed herself against him, her skin warm and soft, and he slid his hands down her arms and around her back to unhook her bra, pulling it from her and reaching down to cup her rear and squeeze. Lacey moaned into his mouth, and he pulled his mouth from hers, kissing down her throat as he pushed her underwear down over her hips, the little thong falling around her ankles and leaving her naked except for her bright blue heels. She kicked them off, sinking down onto her heels, and he cupped her cheeks again, pressing a kiss to her forehead and making her swallow hard.

"On the bed," he whispered, and she took a step back, moving to crawl on the bed on hands and knees. He watched her, the sweet curves of her slender body, the way her muscles moved beneath her skin and the tiny dimples at the top of her thighs. She was on her knees, looking back over her shoulder at him with her hair falling around her face, and he shook his head, turning his finger in a circle.

"Lie back," he said, and she turned around, lying on her back and wriggling a little to make herself more comfortable. He unbuckled his belt and took off the rest of his clothes, crawling onto the bed to join her. She reached up, running her fingers through his hair, a troubled expression on her face, and he pushed himself up on his elbows, lifting a brow.

"What is it?" he asked gently, and she shook her head.

"I'm gonna miss you, Gold," she whispered, and it felt as though something had stabbed him in the chest, a sharp, tearing pain that left him breathless.

He wanted to say something, to tell her she was wrong, that it needn't be the end, but then she kissed him, swallowing down the words that had formed in his throat, his assurance that this needn't be goodbye. Her lips were soft and warm, moist with her saliva, and he lost himself in the kiss for a moment, his free hand stroking over her breast and squeezing. Lacey pushed against him with a tiny noise of pleasure, and he pulled his mouth away to trail kisses down her neck to her breast, his tongue flicking out and making her twitch as he ran it across her nipple. Her skin smelt of vanilla, a heady sweetness that excited him, and he longed to move further down the bed and push his head between her thighs, where she would smell of her own musk, of warmth and love and _Belle_.

He sucked at her, swirling his tongue in a circle around her nipple, and Lacey gasped and pushed her hands through his hair, her nails scraping against him and making him shiver. She was breathing heavily as he kissed his way down over her belly, the muscles of her abdomen clenching at his touch, and he moved lower, until his head was between her pale thighs and he could smell her fragrance. She was flawlessly beautiful to look at, the hair removed by wax to leave the skin smooth and as soft as brushed silk, the dusky pink of her sex revealed to him. Moisture gleamed in the cleft between her thighs, and he pressed his lips to her, making her moan, a brief dab of fluid on his lower lip. Slowly, he slid his tongue out to touch her, trailing it between the soft folds of flesh, and Lacey cried out, fingers tightening in his hair.

"Fuck, Gold!" she whispered. "Damn, you're good at that, you bastard!"

He grinned, and began to sweep his tongue through her folds, the tip of his tongue circling her clit, the flat of it scraping against her. She tasted just as she ever had, salty and delicious, and he buried his nose in the wet petals of her flesh, breathing her in and wishing he could make it right. She was moving her hips, rocking against him, and he licked her in a steady rhythm, feeling her tensing, feeling her near her peak. Belle had always loved it when he did this for her. The first time she had been astonished, but eager to experience something new, having read vague references in some of the more salacious texts in his library. He smiled to himself as he remembered how beautifully she had blushed when he told her what he was going to do, and how the soft pink stain of that blush had spread down onto her chest as he kissed his way down between her legs.

Lacey gasped as he flicked at her with the tip of his tongue, her thighs gripping the sides of his head. He pulled his mind away from Belle, away from what he had shared with her and back to Lacey. He knew what he felt for Belle. He knew he loved Belle. It was Lacey that he needed to concentrate on tonight. He swept his tongue over her flesh, her body undulating beneath him, her fingers twisting in his hair as her moans increased in pitch, and she arched her back with a cry as she came, her hips jerking, hot fluids bathing his tongue as he groaned in pleasure. He stroked the sensitive flesh with his tongue, swallowing every last drop of her bliss, and she twitched in his arms as his tongue touched her, tiny moans still coming from her.

Eventually she stilled, her breath hard and heavy, and he began kissing his way up her body, running his tongue over the plane of her stomach and nibbling along the sweeping curve of her ribs. Her hands stroked through his hair, her body limp and lazy from her orgasm, and he growled under his breath as his cock pressed against her thigh, as he neared his goal. He was achingly hard, the taste of her still in his mouth, making him tingle with desire for her, and he kissed her breasts and up over her chest to her neck. Lacey moaned as he suckled at the point where her pulse throbbed, hot and heavy, and the moan became a cry of pleasure as he bit down.

He slipped a hand between them, down into the heat and wetness at the apex of her thighs, and gently stroked her, making her moan again. She was soaking, wet with his saliva and her own juices, warm and slippery and ready for him, and he slowly pushed two fingers inside her, making her arch her back with a low hum of pleasure. His thumb rubbed at her clit, and she pushed her head back, eyes closed and mouth opened, her deep pink lips glistening as she moaned. Gods, she was beautiful! His breath hardened as he watched her, his fingers slowly sliding in and out of her, his thumb circling, and he shifted his position slightly so that his cock was pressed against his hand, the wet heat spreading along its length as he worked her. She was already close, her second orgasm easier to attain, and she came again with a series of low moans, her head bouncing against the pillows.

Smirking to himself, he withdrew his fingers and positioned himself at her entrance, running his hands up her body to push through her hair as he looked down on her. Lacey's eyelids flickered open and she gazed up at him sleepily, a lazy smile on her face.

"That was incredible," she murmured. "Was that what you wanted to show me?"

He stroked her hair back, the dark curls damp with perspiration and her own fluids from the touch of his fingers.

"Not quite," he whispered, and canted his hips, pressing his forehead to hers as he began pushing smoothly inside her.

Lacey moaned again, sliding her hands down his naked back to rest her fingertips in the groove of his spine. She lifted her knees a little, allowing him to push deeper, and he sank into her with a groan, her breath warm and sweet on his face. He began to move his hips in a slow circle, grinding against her as he kissed along her jaw and down her throat, and Lacey cried out as his tongue found her pulse point again, as he licked at the reddish patch of skin where he had bitten her. She felt incredible in his arms, warm and soft and tight around him, and he pushed up on his elbows and gazed down at her, his heart filling with happiness as he looked at her flushed cheeks and parted lips, at the way her eyes flicked up and held him tight in their gaze. In this moment, there was no uncertainty, no defensiveness, no hiding from him. Her mask was stripped away, and she was just _there_ , and _his_. She was Belle, and she was Lacey, and it was hard to tell where one left off and the other began. Belle had Lacey's fire, her spirit and her courage, albeit quieter and more restrained. Lacey had Belle's intelligence, her vulnerability and need for love, hidden as they were behind the walls of hard drinking and foul-mouthed bravado. The woman in his arms was _both_ , and he realised with sudden clarity that he _loved_ both, these sides of her he had grown to know and cherish. He loved her, completely and utterly.

The realisation hit him hard, and for a moment he was breathless, frozen in her embrace. Lacey looked up at him curiously, her fingers gently stroking his back, sliding up to his shoulders.

"What's the matter?" she whispered, and he shook his head, shifting his position so that he could brush her hair back from her face. He stared down at her, at the pure beauty of her face in his cupped hands, her eyes wide and dark with desire and strength and - yes - with love. He could see it, burning there inside her, glowing like an ember in the depths of her soul.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you, Lacey."

Her breath hitched, her mouth dropping open a little, and she swallowed hard, one hand reaching up to stroke his cheek. She nodded.

"I - I love you too," she said softly. Her fingers caressed his skin, her thumb running across his lip, and he bent his head to hers, their lips pressing together as he thrust inside her once more.

He felt the magic before he saw it, a heavy pulse of energy blooming outwards from their lips and taking her curse with it. She gasped, stiffening in his arms, and he watched with desperate agony as he waited to see what would follow. Her eyes were closed, her breath heaving in her chest, and then she was calm. He waited, by turns hopeful and desperately anxious, and then she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"Rumple?" she whispered, and his face crumpled as tears stung his eyes.

"Oh, Belle!" he said brokenly. "My Belle!"

She shook her head, fingers trembling as they touched his face, as though she couldn't believe he was real.

"I'm sorry!" he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry, Belle! I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't know how to bring you back to me!"

"You kept me safe," she said softly. "You kept me close, Rumple, and you loved me."

"Yes." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I love you, Belle. I love you so, so much!"

He pulled back, barely able to believe that she was back with him. She was blinking rapidly, tears leaking from her eyes, and he brushed them away with his thumbs, his own tears streaming down his face as he kissed her. She opened her mouth to him, a tiny moan escaping her, and he let his tongue stroke against hers, groaning into her mouth as she lifted her hips and pushed against him. He was still inside her, still hard within her, and he began to move, thrusting into her and making her moan into his mouth. Belle let her hands slip down to his shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin, lifting her knees higher and wrapping her legs around his back to keep him there. He quickened his pace a little, sensations rising through his body in rippling waves, his hands shaking as they stroked her cheeks, fingers heavy with her scent. She was moving against him, slick with sweat and burning his skin with her own, her breath coming in pants as he ran his tongue up the length of her throat and over her chin. He could feel her tensing, her body tightening, and she threw her head back with a cry as she came, clenching around him, her nails scoring his back and fresh tears squeezed from her eyes. Stars burst behind his eyelids as he followed her over the edge, and he whispered her name over and over, spurting deep inside her as she held him close.

They lay still, trying to catch their breath, wrapped around one another, and he rested his forehead against hers with a shuddering sigh as she stroked his hair, her fingers carding through it. It felt wonderful, and he closed his eyes and lost himself in the warmth of her touch, the softness of her skin, the familiarity of her scent.

"I don't understand what happened," she said softly. "The last thing I remember - as me, I mean - was it Regina?"

"Yes." He pushed his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply, and her hands stilled.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at her, and she gave him a tremulous smile, reaching up to touch his face. He kissed her fingertips.

"True love's kiss," she mused. "It wouldn't work before, because I - Lacey - didn't love you, and you didn't love her."

"No," he agreed. "But I grew to. I grew to love a different part of you, that's all."

"I understand." She stroked his hair back from his face, the soft strands falling between her fingers. "She's still in here, you know. Still a part of me."

"Should I be worried?" he asked, amused, and she let out a giggle.

"I think you shouldn't think about going to work for a day or two," she whispered, with a gleam in her eyes. "We have plans for you, Mr Gold."

* * *

 **A/N: I promised to fix it, and I did!**


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